Family Man  A Castiel Story
by Kepouros
Summary: Laura shook her head with a smile at the banging coming from down the hall. "Looks like our favorite early riser, grandpa Bobby, is hanging the devil's trap crib mobile." Castiel absently rubbed his wife's distended belly. "He will not like being called that." Laura's smile grew. "And the Winchesters won't like being called uncles, but that's what they're gonna be." COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Castiel and the hunters have stopped the final apocalypse, and are cleaning up the rest of the evil supernatural beings. This time, a one-way ticket to Hell is permanent for exorcised demons and such. It is a time of brief respite, after everything they've been through. The angels are cleaning up the aftermath upstairs, and the hunters are cleaning up the aftermath below, but all in all, the final battle has been won. Now, Castiel has less to do in heaven and has time to pursue the ravelings of an ancient legend that dates back to the Flood. The legend of the Carrier.  
**

The year was 2025. So much had happened to, around, and because of Castiel. Heading off the apocalypse, for the second and final time, had been quite a feat for just the angel of Thursday, even if he'd had the Winchesters' and Bobby Singer's help. At the thought of the three hunters, the ones who brought out the humanity in him, Castiel gave his trademark, archaic smile. The change in his Grace, which was entangled with the soul of the human woman who lay beside him in the bed, caused her to look to her husband's face. "Something on your mind?" she asked, propping up on one elbow and smoothing a hand over her swollen stomach reflexively.

Castiel's smile widened, and he stroked the cherry-wood curls out of her face with a tender hand. "Just thinking."

" 'Bout the boys?" Laura asked, using her pet term for the men she had come to respect. When Castiel had brought her into the open, as his true love and wife, and let her meet the three hunters, there had been some...tension. Especially when they found out she was carrying the angel's child. Looking back to that meeting, Laura could remember their fear, their concern. Fear for themselves, and concern for what power the child would have. The brothers and their surrogate father had lived for so long with the weight of the fate of the world on their shoulders: if the half-angel, half human baby steadily growing inside Laura offended their sense of preservation for mankind, then it would be dealt with. Period. But Castiel had assured them (with minimal use of his Scary Voice) that the infant was not a threat to humanity, and over time, the five of them had grown to be a mismatched, dysfunctional, crazy, insanely loyal sort of family. It was something Laura had never really experienced, having no surviving family, and found herself reveling in whenever she could.

As Laura sat up, modestly pulling the covers up under her arms, the devil's trap painted above the door to the room in bright red caught her eye. It incarnated the never-ending (and, she admitted, totally justified) paranoia that comprised the life of a hunter. "Do you think all this...protection is worth it?" She twisted the covers worriedly, Texas accent prominent. "If my being here is so likely to bring trouble, I don't want to put anyone in danger."

"Yes, the protections are necessary," Castiel replied. "And you know as well as I do that if Bobby didn't want you here, and the Winchesters didn't like you, you would be gone." The angel gave one note of laughter that changed his entire demeanor. It made it easy to forget for a moment that he was, as Dean put it, 'heaven's sheriff'. "Laura, I think they are more protective of you than they are of each other."

"That's impossible," she snorted, chuckling. If there was one thing she had figured out about the boys, it was that their sense of loyalty towards each other was unmatched. They had been to Hell and back for each other. "But the way Bobby is agonizing over demon-, wendigo-, werewolf-, shifter-, and vampire-proofing the nursery, you may be sorta right."

There was a sound of a hammer and nail from somewhere in Bobby's house.

"Our favorite early riser is probably hanging that devil's trap crib mobile," noted Castiel.

"He's _such_ a grandpa," laughed Laura.

"I don't think he would take kindly to hearing that," replied Castiel, mouth twitching.

"He doesn't know it yet, but that's what she's going to call him. And Sam and Dean are going to be uncles."

"Again, they will not take kindly to that. It's just the sort of timestamp they detest."

"Nonsense. They'll get a hoot out of it...right after they give us twin death glares."

Suddenly, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands flew to her belly, mouth forming an _O_ of pain. A glowing bulge moved under her skin, rotating just over her bellybutton. Castiel placed his hands over hers, mirroring, and using his Grace looked with a sense of wonder past the layers of skin, muscle, and fat to the infant that lay curled in his love's womb. Holy HD ultrasound, in complete color and surround sound. At the sight of the little life forming, Castiel's Grace melted in joy. He could watch his daughter all day without pause, if given the opportunity. But now, he sent a tendril of his essence to the baby. The tangling of their Grace (the baby had inherited that part of her father) calmed the baby, and Castiel asked her to stay still and not hurt Mommy. After all, Mommy was fragile compared to a halfling's strength, and Daddy didn't want Mommy hurt. _Even though you can't get out that way, you can cause discomfort, _he reminded gently, without forming words.

The baby loved Mommy-voice-and-warmth, and Daddy-voice too, and glowed happily to show it. Laura and Castiel's adoring faces were illuminated slightly as their daughter displayed a fraction of her power. The bulge, which had been a baby-sized knee, retracted. Laura sighed. "Phew, little lady," she addressed her stomach. "You're gettin' big."

"It's only been a few months," marveled Castiel. His face turned stoic as a familiar worry settled over his mind. Laura was special. Not just because she had caught the eye of an angel, but because of her bloodline. She was the only one of the current generation capable of conceiving, carrying, and birthing a half-angel baby. Many angels had tried to impregnate their human loves throughout history, outside of the guarantee of the Carrier legend. All had failed to bring forth a live baby. Any other woman could conceive, and maybe carry, but the power of the halfling in utero would kill the mother, and by extension the baby. Without fail.

If the faint writings that mentioned the legend of the Carrier were squinted at, they hinted that it was something to do with the womb. Apparently, a Carrier possessed a womb that supernaturally contained and restrained the power, both physical and magical, of the half-angel baby. Any ordinary human's womb was little more than tissue paper to the infant, and as soon as their accelerated development rate made them attain kicking size... Castiel closed his eyes against the thought. Every kick from his unborn daughter reminded him of how lucky he was that Laura was HIS Carrier, and more importantly, his soulmate. Anything less, and he would lose the love of his existence, and the little baby that already had stolen his heart.

Since one just Carrier was born every generation, it stood to reason that that Carrier was destined for only one angel. It was an angel's only chance at having a soulmate. It was rather simple, all in all: the angel felt pulled to earth by some unexplainable force, and eventually, to one person in particular. Angels were champions at following vague, driving emotions. Once they found that person, that human, destiny took over and the human would fall in love with the angel. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage...

Before Noah and the flood, the fulfillment of the Carrier legend had been commonplace. The results were people like Nimrod: incredible specimens of both human and angel genetics, the best of both. But the rapid, rampaging spread of sin after the tower of Babel had made the legend fall into disuse. Many angels forgot about it entirely, and 4,000 years later, when things finally calmed down enough to pursue such frivolities as love, the Carrier legend was deemed too far-fetched, borderline disobedient. Few were the seraphs who believed the legend, who studied the patchwork history.

What powerful, holy, dutiful angel would seek out a weak, faulty human? Love, the greatest emotion, was normally reserved for the Father and for brothers and sisters in the Lord's army. But then, Castiel had never been a normal angel. Castiel loved Dean, and Sam, and Bobby, too. Some said it made him weak. Castiel knew it made him stronger, better. To the angel they were meant to love, a Carrier shone like lightening over the ocean: their voice beckoned; their souls entranced. Castiel was no different.

Protective instincts were not a Winchester exclusive. When Uriel had been testing Laura's defenses to see if she was his Carrier, Castiel had nearly ripped the angel's wings off in her defense. His brow furrowed like a tiger's in mid-snarl. He would protect Laura. He would protect his daughter. At any cost.

"I know that scowl," Laura muttered, taking his face in her hands. She ran a hand through his dark hair, planting kisses on his forehead, nose, and finally his lips. Castiel's scowl was replaced with a passionate focus on his delicious, hormonal wife. She lingered there, sharing his air, his hand spanning the back of her neck. "Quit that," she ordered in a whisper, twitching eyelashes splayed over her cheekbones. "I can feel you all the way over here."

"I apologize," Castiel replied meekly. Her kisses always seemed to do that to him. His blue eyes shone into her olive ones, their bond like tangible electricity between them.

Downstairs, someone was cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Probably Sam, who endured the teasing about his domesticity for the sake of preventing starvation. Laura had cooked until her back started giving out, Dean had tried his hand (the ceiling still bore scorch marks), Castiel didn't need to actually eat, and Bobby could only make meat, potatoes, and eggs, so that left the Sasquatch to slave over a microwave. After the four of them had put a stop to the apocalypse, and Castiel had brought Laura out of the closet, Bobby had kind of taken them all in. As much as Bobby grumbled and griped, they all knew he was secretly pleased to have company after the years of missing his wife and daughters. Dean and Sam used the house as a base to perform hunts, utilizing the knowledge accumulated in Bobby's library and Castiel The Holy Dictionary's proximity to their advantage.

All three hunters were a hair bit (okay, more than a hair) stir-crazy without much in the way of hunting, so they all had a hand in the construction of the nursery. It was strangely quiet on the supernatural front, so a houseful of people, with a baby on the way, was a godsend. Between the five of them, the nursery was essentially a miniaturized version of Bobby's panic room, 100% salt-covered iron with duckies wallpaper overlay and furniture carved with warding symbols. Martha Stewart would have a coronary.

Laura stretched and flipped out of the bed, leaving her angel to watch her dress. Watching Laura (while she did _anything_) was a dead tie with watching their baby on Castiel's list of favorite pastimes. The dimples above her butt drew his attention as she slid on a pair of elastic-band maternity jeans. Glancing over her shoulder, she threw him a teasing look. "Like what you see?"

Castiel must have moved faster than humanly possible (oops), because he was behind her in a millisecond and mouthing her neck with sheathed teeth. "Very much," he responded over her gasp of surprise. His thumbs fit just right into the divots in the small of her back. Laura made a pleased noise in her throat and leaned back against him.

Just when things were starting to get interesting, there was a knock at the door. Castiel growled, walked over, and threw it open with more force than necessary.

"Hey, Cas..." rasped Dean, raising his coffee in salute. He smirked a little at Laura, who was quickly pulling down her shirt. "... Glowstick." The nickname referred to her thinness pre-baby, and the glowing that occasionally came from her belly. "Sam said for me to tell you there's a plate of bacon with your name on it. Or at least," he innocently smiled into his cup. "What's left of it."

"Don't get between me and my bacon, Dean," Laura replied darkly. "Hell hath no fury."

Bobby walked past them down the hall. He was going very fast, hammer in hand. His mischievous whistle made it evident he had a date with a plate of pork.

"Nuh-uh!" called Laura, waddling after him as fast as she could. "I will go broody on you so fast your head'll spin!"

Castiel grabbed a shirt, pulled it on, and made to follow the convoy downstairs. But his friend put a hand on his shoulder. "I gotta question, Cas."

The angel turned, curious. "What is it, Dean?"

The hunter fidgeted, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Does it...she...have wings?"

"Pardon?"

Dean sighed, seeming put-out by the necessity of further explanation. "Come on, Cas. Will the munchkin be born with feathers?"

Castiel frowned, remembering the image of his daughter on the supernatural ultrasound. "An angel's wings stay tucked away until they need them," he said slowly. "According to the lore, a half-angel's wings are evident even before birth, if they inherit that gene. As it is, I've seen no evidence of them on her."

If his daughter took more after Laura, she would simply be a remarkable child with both soul and Grace. If she took more after him, she would be a Nephilim. A half-angel, half-human child complete with wings, who would grow up to be an adult that...no. The prophets were wrong about that.

"But if she does get them," continued Dean. "Will she be able to fly? And more importantly, will she be able to hide them?"

Castiel was rocked by the thought of his daughter flying. His mind conjured up an image of a girl with Laura's hair and his eyes taking a sailing dolphin dive off a mountain cliff, arms outstretched, back bowed with ecstasy, wings spread white and huge, clothes billowing...

But would she be able to hide them? In order to walk among humans, she would need to. If she couldn't, she would have to stay hidden for her whole...

"You okay?" asked Dean. He stuck his mug of steaming morning mud under Castiel's nose. "Breathe." It was unnecessary, but the gesture was appreciated. The angel nodded and the mug was retracted. "Food for thought, man."

"Yes. Thought, indeed." He had not even considered the possibility of his daughter being gifted with flight. Laura would find the thought delightful, but scary.

"And for pete's sake," said Dean longsufferingly. "When are you gonna pick a name for the critter?"

Castiel's smile grew slightly feral at the mention of the old argument. They had a piece of paper with columns of names picked by each person. Some were Sharpied out, some with questions marks, some quadruple-starred, and a few scorched off the paper (courtesy of Castiel's narrowed eyes). "We haven't found one we agree on yet."

Dean groaned, ambling down the hall. "Well, hurry up. Unless you want me to call her munchkin."

"Not a chance," replied Castiel. They made their way downstairs, and the morning got good. After all, there was bacon.

Sam wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron was even better, though.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks aplenty to BloodyEccentrik for her help working around the errors. While you're praying for Japan, pray for the authors of FF while you're at it. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

It was evening in early spring. The brim were spawning, the grasshoppers singing, the ground warm, and the grass smelling sweet. Castiel told Laura about his theories pertaining to their daughter being a Nephilim while they fished in a neighbor's cow pond. True, the neighbors had not invited them, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Laura's craving for raw fish (tactfully referred to as sushi around the house) had gone up a notch in her third trimester (or her third month in angel pregnancy).

Laura was quiet after listening to Castiel, staring out over the water that was still a glass and reflective of the coral-hued setting sun. A dragonfly alighted on her cork, like a steampunk sapphire. "I don't know what to think, baby," she said after a long time. "If she was a Nephilim, she would already have wings, right?"

"Not necessarily," replied Castiel, studying the tadpoles in the shallows. "She could simply be a late bloomer. Or this could all be the useless driveling of a first-time father. You can chose what you want to believe, I suppose."

"Nah," said Laura, reeling in to replace her cricket. "I believe you."

Castiel faced her, head tilted curiously.

"I don't know, but something tells me our daughter," she dropped a hand to her belly. "Is going to be an amazing girl. Good gracious, she already _glows, _Cas."

"If she is more angel than human," said Castiel, voice filled with trepidation. "Then she may fall prey to the prophecy made about all Nephilims at the time of the Great Flood."

"What was the prophecy?" insisted Laura. "All the details, leave nothing out."

"That any half-angel, half-human baby that erred on the side of angelic and grew to adulthood would fall prey to the sin nature of its human side. That that Nephilim would destroy itself through greed, lust, or a hunger for power."

The air over the cow pond was very still after that, although the insects still sang and the sun cast orange light over everything. Laura mulled it over carefully. "So you're saying that if she's Nephilim, she could have wings she can't hide and epic powers that her sin nature drives her to misuse?"

"Yes."

"And if she's more human than angel, she would have no wings, fractional power, and relative normalcy?"

"Yes."

More silence. Then, Laura let out a half-laugh that was not of humor. "You know, I can't even muster up an inkling of desire for her to be more human." She met her husband's eyes with the expression a veterinarian wears as it puts down an animal. "Not even an inkling. I want her to be more angel, because even if it comes with cons attached, I know, I KNOW she can handle it." Laura flicked her pole absently. "I want her to be more like you, because I love you. Everyone has the capacity to sin and do wrong: but with two dynamite parents like us," she finished with a look of determination, "I am positive she will overcome every stumbling block genetics, prophecy, future and legend can throw at her."

Castiel slowly melted into a smile. He loved his wife's fierceness, her drive, her unshakable will, her protectiveness. It rivaled his own. And in the case of their child, it made them unstoppable. "I am glad you said that. Because it would be very hard if you had wanted her more human."

"You want her to be Nephilim, too?"

Castiel sighed, moving up the bank a few feet to sit next to Laura. "It is...incredibly hard, nearly impossible for a human like you to understand. Wings are not just appendages, or limbs, or pretty things on our backs. They make us who we are. Without them, we are defenseless, nothing more than glorified statues. I want our daughter to know power, yes: but I intend to give her the tools to master her own heart's desires." He dropped his hand to hers. "With your help, of course," he added as an afterthought.

"Of course," snorted Laura. Her cork bobbed on the surface, then disappeared.

* * *

**Hour One of Pushing Phase.**

Castiel, seated behind Laura with his legs forming arms to a chair, was rubbing his wife's belly. "You're doing great," he said to her. "Keep it up, almost done."

"This isn't a cardio hip-hop routine, Cas," she responded, rotating her sweaty face to look him indignantly in the eye. "It's pushing a six-pound baby out of your - !" Another contraction took over, and Laura's hands resumed their death grip on his knees. If he weren't an angel, he'd have significant bruises. As it was, he'd just have regular bruises.

"How's she looking?" asked the midwife, a witch named Adrienne.

Castiel looked into Laura's womb. "She's descended another three inches, approximately. Position is normal."

Adrienne nodded. "Good. She's slow, but as long as Laura holds out with energy, there's no problem."

"Still here, you know," muttered the mother-to-be, relaxing for the precious minutes she had between contractions.

The midwife smiled, scratching her long blonde hair sheepishly. "Sorry. Want some ice, honey?"

"No, thanks," Laura replied, returning the smile tiredly. "How much longer? Give me an estimation."

"About four hours, at this rate."

"Crap."

Castiel chuckled.

"You are enjoying yourself far too much, mister," growled Laura.

"It's not every day, or even every millennium, that my daughter is born," he replied proudly, rubbing her pregnant belly as if it were the Buddha's.

Laura gave an acquiescent, if nonconformist nod. "All the same, wipe that grin off your face."

* * *

**Hour Four of Pushing Phase.**

In the living room, all three hunters waited with varying degrees of discomfort and patience.

"Push, once more!"

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

Dean looked at Sam, tinged green around the mouth. "Oh God," said the older Winchester. "It's like hell all over again."

"Easy, bro," replied Sam shakily, face pale. "It's just - "

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"

" - childbirth," he finished weakly.

Bobby was pacing while the boys shifted from couch to chair to feet and back again. "Christ, I'd forgotten how hard this is," he grumbled, scrubbing his face. "She's been at it for _hours_. Shouldn't she...?"

"It can take three hours or more," said Sam hollowly. Another blood-curdling scream resounded through the house. "From what I've learned -"

"On the internet," interjected Dean.

" - contractions of this intensity mean that the baby is coming soon."

"YOU ARE _NEVER_ COMING NEAR ME AGAIN! GOT IT, ANGEL BOY?"

"Not nearly soon enough," muttered Bobby.

* * *

Laura lay panting on the soaked bed, covered in no small amount of blood, amniotic fluid, and other things she didn't want to think about. Her belly _ached, _her lady parts were on fire, her body was totally naked save for a convenient sheet, and her cheeks were crusty with tear tracks that were in a state of constant renewal.

But all that didn't matter. Her eyes were fixed on the little squalling body in her husband's arms.

Castiel was beaming from ear to ear, the biggest smile he'd ever had, and glanced to his wife's anxiously joyful face. "She's perfect." He swept to the side of the bed, dodging the retreating midwife, and lay the precious swaddled bundle in Laura's hands.

Laura's tears fell faster. The baby girl wailed, but Laura heard the sounds of healthy lungs. Her skin was a shocking pink, but Laura saw evidence of a strong heart. She counted the fingers and toes at a glance: twenty phalanges in all. "Lyra," she breathed. "I've waited so long to meet you, baby girl."

Castiel stroked his wife's hair, damp with sweat, and bent to lightly kiss her lips. "We did it," he said.

"We did," she beamed.

"Hey, little girl," he mumbled, tickling one waving hand. It closed on his finger in a tight fist.

Laura tilted the baby to her chest and began to nurse. Lyra drank instinctively and greedily.

"In all my thousands of years," whispered Castiel. "I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Laura smiled up at him, eyes full of love.

As Lyra pulled away from nursing and began to cry again, Adrienne poked her head into the room again with a smile. "You've got two uncles and a grandpa out here about to stand on their heads."

Laura and Castiel laughed. "Send 'em in," Laura said. Castiel mojo-ed the sheets clean, Adrienne ducked out, and in seconds the room was full of bodies.

"Jeez, you've got some lungs," remarked Dean, peering over Castiel's shoulder. He eyed the baby like a time bomb. The hunter's eyes were wide, and his body language spoke of whipcord nervousness that was slowly abating.

"Yeah, she sure does," giggled Laura, lightly brushing the smooth skin under her fingertips.

"Actually, I meant you. Bet the neighbors thought we were committing murder."

They laughed. "She's beautiful," murmured Sam, going to the other side of the bed. "Looks like Laura." He, too, looked like he was shaking the utter terror that was inspired by the sounds of childbirth.

"I say she looks like Cas," Bobby remarked from Sam's side. "Same shape of 'er nose..." The oldest hunter spoke with a thick throat. Under the shade of his hat brim, his eyes glistened.

The little girl flailed blindly, for her eyes were screwed shut. The sound of the Bobby's gravelly voice caught her attention and she quietened down, eyes popping open to show bright cerulean blue. She huffed three quick breaths, staring at him, then resumed crying with extreme vigor. Laura threw back her head and laughed, accompanied by the rest of the room. "Wanna hold her, grandpa?"

Bobby looked startled, but extended his arms. Laura carefully passed her daughter to him. He accepted the precious bundle, cradling the baby's head in the crook of an elbow and supporting her butt with his other hand. For a moment, Bobby's expression was torn between old memories of holding his own daughters and the happiness of holding _this one_. But then, as his hand migrated to get a better hold, his face drained of color. "Oh, God."

"What? What is it?" asked Laura, panic creeping in. She held out her arms again, and Bobby quickly passed the baby back. As he did, the blanket fell away from the tiny body...

to reveal two unnatural appendages fused to her shoulder blades.

Laura gasped, flipping the baby to her stomach. "What in the world? Castiel, what in the world?"

Castiel bent over his daughter, hands light and quick. "Dear Father," he breathed. _"They're wings."_

The baby gave, for lack of a better word, a God-awful screech that shook her tiny body with the ferocity. The appendages looked like jointed loops of flesh-covered bone beginning and ending in the same, slightly-bloodied holes, as though they had pushed themselves out at the second joint. At the tail end of her mighty shriek, the tips of the bones popped out of the holes, and the wings lay flat on her shoulders, wet and limp. The baby grew deathly still and silent.

"No, no, no!" cried Laura, hugging her daughter to her chest. Heart-wrenchingly, "NOOO!"

"What's wrong with her?"

"Help her!"

"Adrienne!" roared Castiel. He reached for his daughter with his eyes aglow with power...

"Don't!" yelled the midwife witch, throwing Dean to the side with remarkable strength to push the angel's hands away. Pulling a vial necklace from under her shirt, Adrienne dove between the father and child, pried open the infant's mouth, and emptied the vial's contents between her toothless gums. Frantically, she rubbed Lyra's throat. There was a split second of absolute terror, of utter, doomed, complete silence.

And then Lyra began to breath again, then gurgle-cry. Her wings, each a half foot long and tapered like a chicken's, began to goosepimple. These nubs grew to individual feathers that lengthened absurdly fast. They were white, tinged with pink blood.

Laura let out the heaviest breath she'd ever held, and sobbed with relief as the baby picked up crying once again, but much more tiredly. Like a normal baby.

"What was that?" asked Castiel. But he already knew, by the scent and consequence.

"Angelica," said the witch, scrubbing her face with relief. "I didn't know if it would work like this..."

"Why keep it so close at hand?" asked Sam warily, squaring his intimidating stature off with the short witch. "The one herb that keeps humans safe from angels."

"For protection," said the witch evenly, staring Castiel in the eye. "From you, seraph, should something go wrong."

Castiel nodded. He could understand her wanting a contingency plan. "You will have no need for it now."

"I think," sighed the midwife wearily. "I think I need to sit down." She backed up against the wall and slid down it.

Bobby joined her. "Me, too," he said, taking off his hat. "What a day..."


	3. Chapter 3

Mount Everest was not conducive to human life.

Castiel stood at the twenty-by-ten-foot summit, gazing down past the scudding clouds. The trails that led up the mountain could only be seen by a trained mountaineer's eye, or in this case, angelic intuition, and conquered only through liberal use of spike-soled boots, oxygen tanks, and eighteen-inch icepicks. Fatal fissures were hidden by innocuous snow, and could plunge the unwary climber to their deaths by freezing or starvation. In fact, when the powder marginally melted under the sun in summer, some irretrievable corpses could be seen at the bottom of the narrow cracks, forever lost in the midnight blue scars of the mountain. The oxygen up here was almost nonexistent: the few molecules there were being whipped from human lungs by the biting wind. It was -34 degrees without wind chill. The snow depth was ever-changing due to the forty MPH winds, but it always stayed above three feet. And usually, that was mixed with six inches of ice.

But he was an angel: such petty things as climatic conditions did nothing to harm him. Exercising a fraction of his Grace, he formed an oxygen-rich, heated bubble around the summit, safe from the driving wind and most of the cold.

The view, all carbonized bamboo-grey and sweeping white and distant civilization, was awe-inspiring. Castiel never lost an opportunity to marvel and the Father's creations.

He couldn't help it: he broke out into a smile. The trench coat slid from his shoulders, and he half-turned to the woman beside him. "Are you cold?"

The tips of her cherrywood curls bounced from under the heavy hat she wore. "No, baby," Laura replied, shifting her thick, steel-spiked boots. "But thanks anyway. Aren't you freezing?"

He shook his head, draped the trench coat around her shoulders anyway, and began to unbutton his dress shirt. "One of the many benefits of being holy. Shall we get the ball rolling?"

Laura giggled, and coquettishly batted her eyes at her stripping husband. "Oh yes, let's. This is probably my favorite part."

"What do you mean?" Castiel smirked, slowing as he reached the lowest buttons.

She blushed: it had nothing to do with the cold. "Seeing you all powerful and angelic, seeing your wings..." She stepped forward, and rubbed her hands along his abdominals to the small of his back. "To answer your earlier question," she whispered in his ear. "I'm plenty warm. You might even say...hot."

Castiel growled, and bent to kiss her fervently, wondering if it was bad etiquette to make love to a woman on a mountaintop. In front of company. He was stopped by a dramatic retching noise.

Lyra was heaving. "Ew, guys! Mom, Dad, can't you keep it to a dull roar?"

The angel and his human wife broke apart, at the lips at least. "Sorry," Laura called, beaming over her shoulder. Castiel pulled her a bit closer with an intense, smokey gaze, jogging her attention. "Actually, not sorry," she amended, shooting her husband promissory eyes.

"Yuck! I need an acid brain scrub!" Lyra howled, rubbing her eyes. "It! Won't! Go! Away!"

"Alright, alright, enough," sighed Castiel longsufferingly. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready since I was born, dad," grinned the fourteen-year-old girl. She bounded to their sides, fiddling with the zipper on her triple-layer jacket. "This is the best birthday ever!" The girl shed her first layer and started on her second.

Laura batted her daughter's gloved hands away, tore her own gloves off with her teeth, and pulled the zipper down. "Listen to your father. He's the expert." Now shy of her first two layers, Lyra nodded with all the solemnity of a first time solo driver. Her eyes, which were her father's blue, shone with enthusiasm. "Turn up the heat, babe." Castiel complied.

Once the youngster was down to her final long-sleeved shirt, both females looked to Castiel, who was unfurling his large, inky wings into reality. They stretched the entire summit, sketched in midair like pencil strokes, for their true color and magnitude could not manifest on this plane. The primaries were sharp, defined by their razor edges for fighting, splayed like individual fingers. The hard upper edges of the wings were tougher than diamond, used for parrying enemies' weapons. It was not that long ago he'd used them to win Laura, and not long since that he'd driven off demons to keep Lyra safe.

Lyra whistled, eyes wide. She'd never seen her father's wings up close, although she was known to beg from time to time. Cautiously, bordering on awe, she crept forward. "Can I touch them, dad?"

Castiel nodded.

_Finally, _thought a little voice in the back of Lyra's head. Gingerly, her fingertips brushed the feathers. They were smooth yet hard, flexible yet strong, and, to her mostly-human eyes, there but not. She could look at them too hard, and they would flicker from her vision, but out of the corner or her eyes, they were elegant lines of charcoal. "Wow," she breathed. "How come mine aren't like this?" Hers were more birdlike than angelic.

Castiel and Laura exchanged a look. "Because you're only part angel, sweetie," said Laura. "You're special. Have been since the day you were conceived."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Castiel, gathering his daughter's hands in both of his. "Because, if you want to wait another year - "

"No way, dad!" cried the girl, grinning fiercely. "I've waited fourteen years as it is!"

Castiel sighed and pulled her into a hug. "I don't want you to grow up too fast. That's all."

"Although it's cliche, dad, I need to spread my wings."

The angel nodded, both the heavy-hearted father and the world's most ecstatic cheerleader.

Laura began to take the safety pins out of the back of Lyra's shirt. Inch by inch, her daughter's back was exposed. The bases of her wings were soft, downy skin-and-feathers over whipcord tendons, hollow bones, and hard muscles. Lyra reached down her shirt and unbuckled the cobbled belts that kept her in human clothes. Her mother guided the wings through the hole in her shirt and stepped back.

Lyra sighed with relief as the blood rushed back to her extra limbs. Stretching the wings as far as she could, she pouted at how short they were compared to her father's span. "You're still growing, little one," chuckled Castiel. "You've got some feet left to go."

That comforted her some. Pulling one wing in front of her, Lyra began to hurriedly, excitedly, straighten the pure white feathers with her fingers. It was an unfortunate necessity due to the harness that kept her secret from the world, but in a way, it was soothing. Once done preening, she whirled them in quick, huge clockwise circles, warming the flight muscles while Castiel watched her critically, arms folded. "Take your time. If you catch a cramp in midflight, it'll ruin your whole day."

"And my night," laughed Laura. Though they tried to restrain Lyra's enthusiasm to short nighttime glides and static flapping for exercise, she often crept off to attempt flights on her own, usually ending in the sharp contraction of an unwarmed muscle. Laura would stay up at night to rub Bengay into the feathers.

"I'm done, I'm done! Let's go!" She began to march to the edge of the summit, but was stopped by her father's hand. "Watch me first." Castiel walked to the edge of cliff, kicking off wayward pebbles that caught the sharp wind outside the bubble and disappeared. Then, with a well-practiced movement, he jumped off the cliff and downstroked powerfully. On the second stroke, he caught air currents that would've ripped lesser creatures' wings off, wheeling in the air to carve a graceful, perfectly postured circle around the summit.

"Show off," muttered Lyra. She looked a bit paler.

"Nervous?" asked Laura gently, stroking Lyra's hair.

"No. Yes. Oh, I don't know."

"He makes it look easy because he's got millenia of experience on you," said Laura confidently. "Soon, you'll be just as good."

Lyra smiled at her mother. "Thanks, mom."

Castiel landed in front of them, folding his wings slightly. "Take-off check."

"Jump hard, time your downstroke, don't worry if you lose some altitude," recited Lyra. "Keep you head up, eyes open, back straight, and arms out of the way."

"Flight rules?"

"Don't fight the wind: use it. Don't look down until you're level. Don't be afraid of updrafts: you can always come back down. Avoid birds, clouds, and airplanes."

"Good. I think the last one goes without saying," smiled Castiel. "Alright, little miss. Step on up."

Lyra swallowed and stepped to the edge of the cliff. Peering over the edge, she gulped and glanced back at her watching parents. "Anyone wanna stop me?"

"Nope," said her mother flippantly, but compassionately. "You've been begging to do this since you could talk. You'll never forgive yourself if you back out now."

"I have faith in you," said Castiel.

Lyra took a really, really deep breath. _Don't be a big chicken, _she thought, mustering her courage. _Eat one! _"One," she quavered. "Two," she planted her feet to jump. "Three," wiggling her butt, she thought, _No turning back! _"Get off my grandma's apple_ treeeeee_!"

And she jumped.

One downstroke. The wind was shrieking in her ears, even though her father's Grace kept her warm. If she didn't do something quick, she would tumble onto her back where her wings would be useless. She nearly panicked when her second downstroke, although it righted her, didn't seem to do any good. Gritting her teeth, she splayed her feathers wide, arched her back, and extended her arms.

_FWOOSH! _In a second, she was level and climbing. There it was! The wind billowed under her, buoyed her, and with her next flap began to work in her favor. It shocked her just how fine-tuned her movements had to be to maintain her desired path. Risking a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw her mother jumping up and down, pumping her fists. Her father was taking off to join her.

Mimicking what she'd seen before, Lyra tilted, banking jerkily. Her heart pounded, and her eyes were big as saucers. "Good job!" called Castiel from behind.

"I did it," Lyra whispered. Then, exultantly, "I DID IT!"

"You did it!" shouted Laura as her family soared overhead. The father and daughter continued to play in the sky, under the joyful, teary gaze of Laura. Wiping the tears, she smiled fit to break her face. "I knew you could, darlin'."


End file.
